


A Brand on the Skin

by voiceless_terror



Series: TMA Hurt/Comfort Week [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftermath of Episode 92, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, TMAHC Week, season three
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:20:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voiceless_terror/pseuds/voiceless_terror
Summary: Jon gets marked by three entities in a matter of days and crashes.
Series: TMA Hurt/Comfort Week [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1893808
Comments: 40
Kudos: 373





	A Brand on the Skin

**Author's Note:**

> For Day Three: Overwhelmed. I always thought Jon would have more of a reaction to get marked so quickly, since the rest seem to be spread out. Needless to say, he is rather overwhelmed here.

Tim was pretty fed up with this mess of an archive.

Scratch that, he was fucking _done._

Sasha’s dead and gone. He’d barely adjusted to having Melanie and now he’s got to deal with Basira. Daisy’s a fucking loose cannon. Martin’s recording statements like some sort of pseudo-archivist. And Jon may not be a murderer but he’s sure as hell a fucking maniac. Even if he did come back looking smaller and more vulnerable than he’d had a right to. Walking through those doors, neck bleeding and defiantly confronting Elias. _Good for you_ , he’d thought. _But don’t try that shit with me._

Jon has stayed behind in Elias’s office, no doubt to review whatever nefarious plan they’d come up with to screw their lives further. Tim had decided that the best use of his time was to beat his own score in Tetris, intermittently balling up research for statements off of Martin’s desk and throwing them into the trash as Melanie judged. Martin himself was fussing in the break room; the reappearance of Jon surely rattled him. Basira and Daisy had taken an increasingly volatile argument outside. So when Jon eventually wandered down the welcoming party was rather unenthusiastic. 

He hovered in the doorway, more disheveled than ever. His hair had grown even longer in his absence and more threaded with gray. Ordinarily, Tim would have teased him over this new development but the time for normality was over. He was wearing some sort of ridiculous hoodie from a popular podcast and over-sized jeans. _What corpse did you rob for that outfit, boss?_ The wound on his neck seemed to have reopened, blood sluggishly trickling down his neck. It was then Tim noticed the way he favored his arm, hugging it to his chest as if afraid to expose it to open air. _Is that a burn? Did he have some sort of cooking accident?_

“You’ve looked better, Sims,” Melanie bit out, though Tim could hear the concern behind the snipe. Melanie and Jon had always been at ends with each other but Tim thought he detected a bit of familiarity to the routine, almost as if it were a comfortable banter. He’d think they were friends if not for the animosity in Melanie’s eyes. 

Jon didn’t seem to hear her, leaning further upon the door frame and mumbling something to himself. He winced as he put pressure on his injured arm; his eyes seemed miles away, flickering over a scene that neither him nor Melanie could see. This caused her to frown further in concern; she clapped her hands loudly as if to get his attention, and added an “Earth to Jonny!” for good measure.

Jon flinched, a delicate, pointed thing as his eyes didn’t clear but seemed to find the owner of the voice. The next words came out thin and reedy. _“Please_ ,” the words were plaintive and sent a shiver down Tim’s spine. “I can’t find the ground.”

“S-sorry?” Melanie stuttered out, moving to stand. Tim followed suit- no matter how angry he was with the man, he wouldn’t leave him to some sort of psychotic break. They had been friends once. Some would even say close. 

Martin chose that moment to reenter the room, and Tim watched as he immediately leapt into action. Martin always seemed to know what to do in a crisis. He took one look at Jon’s watery, far-off gaze, and swept him into his arms, carefully shepherding him back to his office like a knight errant. He murmured meaningless platitudes to counter Jon’s nonsensical stuttering as the door closed before them and Tim and Melanie were left standing in the bullpen, unsure of what to do.

“Um,” Melanie unhelpfully voiced. Always great with emotions, that one was.

“I’ll go,” Tim offered, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m used to this shit by now.” He doubted the truth of his own statement. He’d dealt with the spooky, the downright uncanny. But he didn’t know how to react to his boss begging for help from a foe he couldn’t see.

He tiptoed down the hallway, the voices from the office becoming clearer. Martin’s voice held a note of panic, but remained even-keeled. Jon’s grew to upsetting, hysterical proportions. 

“ _-monster._ Have to b-be put down, Martin-”

“Stop that, you know that’s not true-”

“There’s too much _space,_ I can’t find anything-”

“Shh, I’m right here-”

“It _burns-”_

“Could someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” It wasn’t his most eloquent statement, but at least it got to the point. He opened the door to find Jon squirming on the ground, Martin’s arms enclosing him and trying to keep him still. Jon let out a whimper that cut to the core of Tim’s being, and Martin immediately responded with a calming hand through his hair, hushing him. He looked up at Tim, relieved to have some sort of help. Tim wasn’t sure how helpful he could be in this situation.

“Can you wet a rag or a paper towel or _something,_ he’s burning up and I don’t know what to do, he won’t let me go-” Martin’s voice, which he’d attempted to keep calming and even, was starting to become higher in pitch.

“On it.” Tim responded brusquely. This he could do- just to escape that fucking room, though the whimpers and cries followed him from the office to the break room, an uncomfortable reminder of the man he’d left behind in more ways than one. Melanie poked her head in.

“Should I-”

“No,” Tim interrupted, rolling his eyes and not willing to get into a conversation. “I don’t think anyone can help at this point. Not even us.”

Well, it was true.

He went back into the room, passing the towel to Martin who gratefully accepted. He’d managed to get Jon over to the couch, pushing him into the frame with a rather heavy amount of pressure. He put the towel to Jon’s forehead, and the man leaned into the motion. Jon never accepted help, had such a problem admitting to any sort of vulnerability; but here he was, begging for it. It was pathetic and it made his chest ache in a way that it hadn’t since Danny had cried in his living room all those years ago.

“What’s wrong with him, then?” he asked, though he didn’t think Martin knew the answer.

“I don’t know!” _Should have expected that._ “But I think we need to get him to A&E, look at his _arm-”_

Jon’s sleeve had been pulled up to his elbow and Tim almost gagged. What had looked like a mildly bad burn on his hand was actually much more horrific- as if someone had taken his arm and molded it in their own image of a hand. _What the fuck have you been up to, Jon?_ Tim thought wildly. _What have they done to you?_

“No, _please,_ I can’t- _they can’t see_ -” Jon’s hysteria rose to a fever pitch and he struggled wildly in Martin’s arms. He looked helplessly to Tim, who reluctantly took a seat beside Jon and lent his hands to the struggle- Jon was pinned in place, chest heaving.

“Just keep me down, _please._ I know you hate me but I don’t want to be _up_ anymore, there’s nothing in the _up_ , _nothing-_ ”

“Shh, it’s fine,” Tim found himself murmuring, as much to Jon as it was to himself. “We’re here. You’re not up anymore.” Martin gave him a thankful look that he ignored. _This is just to shut him up. Not for anything else._

“I can’t do it anymore,” Jon’s eyes turned to tears. “Just tell Daisy- is she here? Tell her it’s fine, tell her I’m ready- she can _finish the job_ \- just one less _monster_ -”

A hand wound around Jon’s mouth- Martin’s. It was a movement of desperation- Martin took no pleasure in doing it, his own eyes tearing up. But Jon wouldn’t stop talking even with the pressure, even with the reassurances. Tim had thought him well and truly lost before and he was angry, believing that Jon had willingly left them to their misery, left them with a dead body and no Sasha and more mysteries. But here he was, squirming in their arms, begging to be released, to be _killed_. And Tim, despite everything, wanted him to feel better. Wanted him to be okay, to fight _whatever_ this was that was tormenting him. _It’s not because I care_ , Tim thought desperately, _we just need him for what’s to come. For the Unknowing. For Danny._ If Jon weren’t in such dire need of reassurance and comfort he’d march up to Elias’s office and give the man a piece of his mind and maybe his fists. _What have you done to us? What will you do?_

For now, he held Jon down- his first friend at the institute, the first one to make him smile- as he screamed and cried. Later, Basira would feed him the truth in bits and pieces- Jude Perry, Mike Crew, Daisy and her spade. Later he’d have dreams of Jon sobbing and bleeding, digging a grave for a man he’d just met. 

Later, he’d meet Jon in a dance. And by then it would be too late. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not particularly drawn to ending in angst, but with the perspective of Season Three Tim it seemed rather inevitable. I'm more of a season one girl myself, but here we are.
> 
> Let me know how you liked! Comments always appreciated.


End file.
